


Rapunzel AU/Soulmate Au

by talesfromtheguild



Category: Rapunzel (Fairy Tale), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rapunzel AU, the mandalorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24248908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesfromtheguild/pseuds/talesfromtheguild
Summary: Headcannons on a Rapunzel AU with our man Din? Like he gets a bounty to catch a girl with magical glowing hair?imagine din accepting a bounty for a force sensitive artist reader and when he pulls up to her studio its just full of paintings of him without his mask cause shes been getting visions of her soulmate.
Relationships: Din Djarin / reader, Din Djarin / you, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	1. When Will Your Life Begin?

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: UNEDITED, made up medical mumbo jumbo, canon violence, abusive parental figure, badly re-written disney song to fit the SW universe, maybe other things i’m forgetting

The cantina had been buzzing with noise before the Mandalorian stepped inside. People were laughing, joking around with one another, enjoying each others company, and then the most feared bounty hunter in the Guild walked through the front door. 

Conversations died immediately. Standing in the threshold of the cantina, the Mandalorian scanned the crowd before him searching for the contact that Greef Karga had set up. Utapauns, Talzs, Kitonaks, Arconas, a Devaronian or two, and a dozen other species filled nearly every seat available in the cantina.

All eyes were on him. A pin could have dropped onto the sand covered floor with how quiet the establishment was. Mandalorians were not common this far into the middle rim. He was a sight to behold for most of the patrons in the bar.

With a tiny tilt of his helmet, the bounty hunter silently challenged anyone who dared glance twice at him. Chatter filled the cantina after a long and tense moment. Releasing a small sigh, the Mandalorian descended the few steps that led him deeper into the room. His eyes behind the T shaped visor found their mark tucked away in a small corner of the building, sipping on what looked like spotchka.

Mando walked through the throng of creatures, making his way across the dirty floor and towards the man who be paying him handsomely in a matter of days. He stopped before the client, his hands hovering over his blaster attached to his hip. A woman sat beside the man, looking nervous. Mando thought it was due to his presence, but quickly realized it was the entire cantina that made this woman nervous.

“Hello sir.” said the man. He rose slowly and extended his hand out for the Mandalorian to shake. Mando’s gaze flickered down to the man’s extended hand, and then back up to his face. The man reluctantly dropped his hand when he realized the Mandalorian wasn’t (or couldn’t) shake his hand in return.

“Please sit.” asked the man. The Mandalorian took in how the man and woman held themselves. They were obviously royalty of some kind. The Mandalorian sank into the soft worn out leather of the booth after unhooking his pulse rifle from his back. The woman who sat beside the man eyed the pulse rifle with wide fearful eyes.

“I am Seet Voskeelirn, and this is my wife - Hannyn.” spoke the man.

The names didn’t mean much to the Mandalorian. Living in the outer rim meant he didn’t need to know about middle or inner rim rulers who ruled over the outer rim and made outer rim residents lives harder than they needed to be. But he knew that the Voskeelirn family ruled over the planet Genassa - which had heavy ties to the Empire.

When the Mandalorian said nothing, Seet continued to speak.

“Nearly twenty one years ago our daughter was stolen from us. And we have reason to believe she is still alive.” spoke Seet.

“Twenty one years is a long time to hold on to hope that you’re daughter is still alive.” commented the Mandalorian.

“My wife and my daughter are force sensitive.” Seet replied, his voice quieter than before. The bounty hunter cocked his head slightly. Force sensitive? This was not what he signed up for. Not at all.

“Please... I know she’s still out there. If she was de- if she was gone I would have felt it.” spoke Hannyn.  
“And where do you suggest I begin looking for her?” Mando asked, against his better judgement.  
Since acquiring the Child, the Mandalorian had been taking easier jobs to get paid faster to help care for the kid. But he was missing the thrill of the hunt when it came to bounty hunting. He missed the all night stake outs, the stalking of his prey, the battle before taking down the bounty in question. He missed bounty hunting.

Seet looked around the cantina, searching for prying eyes and overhearing ears. When Seet was satisfied that no one was listening, he nodded at his wife as he took her hand in his.

“I’ve had dreams about where she is.” Hannyn stated. The Mandalorian had to suppress a groan that worked its way up his throat. Force dreams? Really?

“She’s on an outer rim planet, and there’s so much sand. So much sand... but there’s an ocean too.” Hannyn said, a far off look in her eyes.

“That could be any planet in the outer rim. It could take me quite some time to find her... if she’s still alive.” he said.  
The Mandalorian was beginning to regret taking his job from Karga. It was clear now as to why everyone was passing up on this bounty. Especially with the heavy Imperial presence Ichtor 8. How in the galaxy was he supposed to find a force sensitive girl who no one has seen since she was a baby? This job seemed impossible... but this was exactly what the bounty hunter was looking for.

“We are aware that this seems like a long shot, but I assure you we can pay handsomely. Now and upon the safe return of our daughter.” Seet promised, as he slid over a bag full of calamari flan in front of the Mandalorian.

Mando looked down at the full sack of credits. He could use every credit in that bag to either repair the Razor Crest, feed the Kid and himself, and have some left over to save for a rainy day. That thought alone made the Mandalorian antsy with excitement. Money like this... good money... rarely fell into his lap like this. He had to take this job now.  
“Do you have a tracking fob?” Mando asked, expecting the worst. There was no way these royals could have a tracking fob with your DNA in it.

“We have a tracking fob with our DNA.” Seet said, fishing the tiny metal box out of his coat pocket. The Mandalorian took it, feeling the weight of it in his hand.

“Will it be enough?” Hannyn asked, her wide watery eyes looking at his helmet intensely.

“It will have to do.” Din said. And it would. If you had been missing since you were a baby, then there was no way for Seet or Hannyn to have a tracking fob curated towards your specific DNA structure. But perhaps, with a bit of tweaking to the fob, their combined DNA could replicate or maybe even come close to what your DNA resembled.

Mando stood from the leather booth seat, and swiped the bag of calamari flan off the table, tucking it into one of his pouches. Hannyn stood up quickly, making the Mandalorian tense with his hand hovering over his blaster at his side.

“Please bring my daughter home to me. It’s almost her birthday.” she begged.

The Mandalorian nodded once at her. A sad, watery smile spread across her lips. Seet rose as well, drawing his wife into his arms to comfort her. He stroked her hands up and down his wife’s arms, trying to bring her comfort.

The Mandalorian left the royals in the cantina. He weaved through the chilly market place on Ichtor 8, picking up a few spare items he and the Kid would need before trekking across half the galaxy in search of a mysterious princess that no one has seen since she was a baby.

As Din wrapped several ration packs into a rucksack, he couldn’t help but feel somehow connected to you. He, too, hadn’t been seen by a single being in the galaxy since he was a child. And while your circumstances were different from his and as equally mysterious, Din couldn’t place why he felt so connected to a faceless figure he’d never met. He shook off the feeling. You were nothing more than a means to an end. You were the only thing between him and more credits.

Mando made his way back to the Razor Crest quickly, for an impending snow storm was brewing on the horizon and he did not want to waste time waiting out the storm. Ascending the ramp, the baby babbled at him in angry disappointment. How dare he leave me alone!

“I brought you nuna legs.” Din told the Kid, which made the baby’s angry babbles turn into delighted laughs. With a roll of his eyes, Mando quickly and efficiently moved around the hull of his ship, putting away the various food items he’d purchased. Any repairs the bounty hunter had to make to the ship would have to wait until he was on a more suitable planet.

“Let me get us into hyper space, and then we can have dinner. How does that sound womp rat?” Din asked, turning to look down at the Kid.

The Kid raised his arms, begging his dad to pick him up. Din crouched down, and picked up his son, and tucked him gently into his chest, being mindful of the harsh beskar chest plate. The baby coos in his dad’s arms, just happy to be held.

The Mandalorian gets the Razor Crest into the air before the snow storm has a chance to hit Ichtor 8. Once the craft was in hyperspace with coordinates set for Takodana. Din had one lead in mind to help him get farther in his search for the long lost, mysterious, force sensitive princess of Genassa.

~

Dabs of orange paint begin to appear on the canvas as the background of the image is slowly brought to life. And from the dabs of orange come the flecks of gold, and ochre and fiery reds which span the canvas before morphing into dark forest greens like the trees of Takodana which you’ve only ever seen in dreams.

Raising your brush again, you contemplate where to put these delicate streaks of lilac which will compliment the fushias, and pinks, and warmed toned purples that you’ve weaved into this mysterious woman’s hair. And you weren’t even going to think of all the things you wanted to do to the unmasked man in the painting, and his cool toned purples and blues which danced around him. His golden skin made you feel warm and safe. His hawkish nose and jaw line made you feel strong and confident in your ability to paint him. And his eyes... they were the hardest to paint, but most satisfying to put onto the canvas. Capturing the emotions this man could portray was nearly impossible. And you were sad about having to cover this man’s beautiful half-profile with his shiny metal helmet. The world deserved to see his beauty.

Staring at your half finished painting makes you scowl a little. You were jealous, not that you were going to admit it aloud or even to yourself. You were jealous of this mysterious half-painted woman and her hands and just how close she was to the man who’d been plaguing your dreams since you were young.

It wasn’t logical to be jealous of fictional figures, especially ones that lived inside your subconscious, only to be revealed in dreams in the dead of night. But a part of you just couldn’t let it go. You were incredibly jealous of this beautiful woman and how close she could get to the man in the shiny armor. She could touch him while you were left behind, painting the aftermath of these dreams, longing for everything the two of these fictional people had together.

Pascal beeped from the perch he’d made behind you. You turned your head to the side, keeping the brush between your fingers a safe distance away from the canvas to avoid accidental contact.

What happened in the dream this time? he asked.

You sighed, dropping your brush into a jar of paint thinner. For weeks, months maybe you’d been having the same dream over and over again of the mysterious metal man who stood half finished on the stretched canvas before you. You needed a break. You’d been painting all afternoon.

Walking towards the only window in your home, you gazed out across the vast landscape that you called your backyard. Pascal jumped on to the windowsill and crouched down, as if to lay down for a long nap in the sun like a lazy loth cat after eating a five course meal. 

“It’s the same dream I’ve had for weeks now. He arrives at the water farm with a woman. The two of them run through the woods in the dead of night with a giant metal monster chasing after them. And then it cuts to them.” you gesture vaguely behind you at your current work in progress.

You’d been painting the metal man and the beautiful woman for almost as long as you’d been dreaming of them. The first night your dreams had changed you woke in a cold sweat with the image of him and her burned into the back of your mind. No longer were you going to dream of the metal man running through a vast and dirty city carrying a small bundle in his arms. Instead, you were going to dream of this mysterious man and this beautiful woman every single night until the images would change... and you hoped they’d change soon. You were tired of looking at the two of them.  
Why do you give her so much emotion? Pascal had asked one day after you had finished laying down the ground work to begin adding details to the metal armor that the man wore. You wondered if he ever took off the armor.

“Why wouldn’t I give her strong emotions? I wish you could see my dreams Pascal. The way she looks at him... she was beginning to develop feelings for him... and then he had to leave. I cannot fathom the pain of watching someone you love leaving you.” you stated, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you leaned out the window slightly.

The suns felt good against your skin. Closing your eyes, you turned your face towards the sky, hoping to get as much sun as the small window would allow you. You’d never set foot outside your tower and you so desperately wished you could. But it was forbidden.

“Oh Y/N let down your hair!” called your mother from far below you in a sing-songy voice. Looking out the window, and down at the ground you saw your mother, eagerly waving at you and at Pascal. A sad sigh escaped your lips. So much for soaking up the sun rays.

“Coming!” you called down to her. Turning away from the window, you quickly stashed your painting away, being mindful not to mess up the still wet paint you’d applied today. You covered the hiding spot with a curtain of messily strung together sketches of the same mystery man. Some were of his helmet, or his armor, or even a few doodles of his weapons. Others were of him in action, fighting random and shapeless figures in all parts of the galaxy. And some were of his face. In your dreams, you could see him clear as day... but your sketches could never quite capture his beauty completely. Something always felt off once you finished a sketch of his face. Part of you wished to see him in real life to compare what you’d missed.

“Y/N!” your mother called up to you in that nauseating sing-song voice.

“Coming!” you shouted, gathering your long hair in your arms.

Here we go again. Pascal jested.  
You heaved your hair out of your window, and waited. After feeling your mother tug on your hair, you began to pull her up and into your tower. A minute later, she was standing in the center of your living room. She removed her cape and silver stormtrooper helmet, and dropped her bag, setting the items on the little table you had in the living room.

“And how is my darling daughter today?” asked your mother. Her bouncy black curls hung down her back, and it was only now that you noticed the thin silvery whisps of gray that were beginning to bleed through her dark locks.

“I’m great! Did you bring any new holopads?” you asked, trying not to sound eager. You’d run out of books to read, and had been not-so subtly asking for new things to read. You’d read the tragedy of Anakin and Padmé nearly a thousand times and could possibly quote it line for line. And you could read Kenobi in your sleep. You were looking for something new to devour over and over again.

Your mother sighed as she looked around your tower. She glared at the wall of messily stuck up sketches of your dream man, and his space ship. Nothing was out of place or messy - in fact everything was where you liked it - but something was clearly wrong in her eyes.

“You have to dust more often. It’s horribly stuffy in here.” she scolded you and your cleaning abilities.

“Of course Mother.” you replied. She hummed in an uninterested way before turning back towards the bag she’d set down. After rummaging around for a moment, she pulled out a holopad.

“A merchant in Canto Bight said this one was all about Mandalore. The planet’s no longer hospitable you know. Evil Jedi warriors made sure of that.” Mother droned on, bitterness sinking into her words the more she spoke.

“It sounds very... informative.” you acknowledged, keeping yourself ignorant of how angry your mother sounded. You tried to take the holopad from her hands, but she yanked the holopad away from you with a fancy flourish of her hands.  
“Uh-uh. What do I get in return?” she asked, knowing full well she was going to get what she came for, as she always did.

You quickly dashed around your tower, drawing up Mother’s regal and fancy plush chair that she loved to sit on in front of the window she’d entered through. She smirked deviously, not that you could see that though, and sank down into the soft cushioned chair, letting the sun warm her skin.  
You dashed up stairs to your room, and grabbed your hairbrush before nearly jumping down the flight of stairs to get to Mother faster. You dropped down in front of her and eagerly handed her your hairbrush, while hauling as much hair as you could in between the two of you.

Mother held onto your hair tightly, and began to brush your long luscious locks. Closing your eyes, you straightened your back and shifted on your bent knees. You waited a moment before beginning to sing. The faster this was over, the faster she could leave and then the faster you could get back to painting your heartbreaking painting.

“Stars, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring balance to the galaxy.” you sang by yourself.

Mother watched as your hair began to glow, brighter and brighter, as the Force began to flow through you and consequentially into her. She could feel her cells vibrating and humming as they began to absorb youthfulness, turning her back into the beautiful dark-haired mother you knew her to be.

“Heal what has been hurt. Change the Forces' design. Save what has been lost. Bring balance to the galaxy.” your mother sang with you.

The glow to your hair faded as your song died out, and you could feel the Force slowly leaving your veins. With a satisfied hum, your mother sat back in her chair and smiled lazily at Pascal. Spinning around you looked at her. She no longer had those streaks of gray running through her locks thanks to your powers. You stifled a yawn. Reversing her clock always drained you.

“So as you know, tomorrow is my birthday and I know what I want for my birthday this year.” you spoke up after an encouraging nod from Pascal.

“Didn’t you have a birthday last year?” Mother mused. She rose from her chair, and walked the short distance to the mirror you had near the window. She began inspecting her reflection, assessing your work.

“That’s the thing, they happen every year.” you gently reminded her as you rose from the floor and moved her chair back into its proper position.  
“Mhmm and what do you want this time?”

“Every year on my birthday, there’s these exploding stars, and I can’t help but feel like they’re for me. I just want to see the city.” you told her, giving a quick glance at the place you’d hidden your most recent painting.

“Exploding stars? See the city? Here on Cantonica? There’s nothing to see in Canto Bight.” she dismissed you.

“You say that but you get to see it. I’ve never left this tower.” you try arguing your case with her in a calm manner. Getting angry wasn’t going to help your situation. You moved to the center of the room, coming to stand behind your Mother as she looked back at you in the mirror.

“And just what do you think you’d see in the city? Because I will tell you: you’ll see monsters. Men with sharp teeth ready to rip your heart out, or to take advantage of you. Aliens from other planets that would kidnap and torture you. Going to the city is a dangerous task for anyone from any planet.”

“But Mother!” you began to protest.

“That answer is no Y/N.” she replied, with no room for argument.

“I can see the lights and hear the laughter from here. I want t-.”

“YOU ARE NEVER LEAVING THIS TOWER!!” Mother screamed at you, her face flashing a violent red before turning into a frightening stone stare.  
You cowered away, hunkering downwards to make yourself smaller to make sure you weren’t the target of her wrath anymore. Your mother had never hit you, but you were always afraid that she would.

“Oh now I’m the bad guy.” she sighed dramatically. You felt bad now, You hadn’t meant to make her angry. You just wanted to leave this tower. To see the city’s lights for a couple of hours on your birthday.

Pascal had crawled up your body, and was resting against your shoulders, trying to give you moral support. He never liked your mother. He tolerated her at best. A pity-sigh escaped Mother’s lips as she looked at you while she grabbed her cape and put it back on.  
“When I return tomorrow I hope you will have put this silly little wish behind you.” she states as she sets the Mandalore holopad onto the table. She picks up her helmet and slides it over her head before slinging her bag across her back.

“Of course Mother.” you reply automatically.

You lower your Mother out of your tower, and watch as she walks away from the tower without looking back at you. When she’s gone, you turn away from the window where the suns were beginning to set. You stared sadly at the hiding place where you kept your unfinished painting, looking at every sketch of the man in your dreams.  
“I hate him Pascal. I hate him.” you declared sadly.

You hate him? Pascal asked.

“I hate how much freedom he has. He can travel anywhere and I can only travel to places in books.” You picked up the holopad your Mother had left.

“He could travel to Mandalore, to the water farm, and to Tattooine, and to Canto Bight here on Cantonica.”  
Pascal said nothing in return. And you were glad for that because nothing he could say would make you feel better.

When was your life going to being?

You sighed and moved around your tower, flicking on small lamps to illuminate your small home. You stared a small fire in your fireplace, and began to make dinner for yourself. After dinner, and when the suns had disappeared from the sky, you decided to read a bit before bed. Pascal curled into your lap and listened to you read as you sat in front of the fireplace as the fire roared.

As you read aloud to your little droid, vast and beautiful images of impossible landscapes filled your mind. You had no doubt that the images you were seeing were of Mandalore. The more you read, the more detailed the pictures in your mind became, and soon people began to pop up in little flashes. You stopped reading when you recognized the vague outline of the helmet that the metal man wore.

What’s wrong? Pascal asked when you’d gone quiet for too long.

“Nothing. I want to paint.” you declared as you stood up, nearly dropping Pascal onto the ground. He beeped out a few curses at you.  
“Sorry!” You hollered at him as you made a mad dash for your paint supplies in your closet.

With several brushes in hand, you looked around your tower. There wasn’t a lot of space left for you to paint the scene you wanted to bring to life. Your eyes ran over the heartbreakingly beautiful beach view that belonged to the late planet of Scarif. You’d cried for weeks after finishing the painting. Some very important people died on that planet, and the mural you painted didn’t do them enough justice.

Letting your eyes travel sideways, your eyes landed on an empty patch of wall hidden behind curtains you made when you turned nine. You roughly tore the curtains down, and stared at the blank wall in front of you.

Your fingers gripped the brush tightly, and you let your mind go blank as you began to paint. Smears of browns, and blacks and grays began to pave the foundations of the buildings and structures that were beginning to burn against the backs of your eyelids. And from the earthy tones, you dabbed different hues onto the drying paint on the wall, creating depth and dimension to a long-lost planet.

“Pascal? Can you read me more from that book?” you called out to him as you changed from a large brush to a smaller one, to begin working on details. Paint was everywhere, and not just on the walls. It was on your clothes, on the floor, in your hair, and smeared across your face. And it was going to be a pain to scrub out of your obnoxiously long hair.

Sure thing! He happily beeped.

You dipped your new brush into some blue pigment, and then mixed some green and white into it trying to create a pale teal-ish color. After several moments of mixing, Pascal’s beeps filled the night air. You listened for a while, and eventually began to tune the little droid out. More and more details began to take shape on the wall before you, giving the painting life now. 

“Wait repeat that.” you asked Pascal. Your ears had heard something but your mind hadn’t registered what Pascal had said.  
Some Mandalorians cannot remove their helmets, except to partners and children. Clan members may have exceptions.

A deep, thoughtful scowl spread across your face as you hummed. You turned to look at Pascal. You tapped the non-brush side of your paint brush against your lips. The image of Mother’s stormtrooper helmet crossed your thoughts, but then you dismissed it. Her helmet was not a Mandalorian helmet, as far as you knew. You couldn’t imagine hiding your face away from everyone.  
“I guess we’re kind of similar. Mandalorians and us. Neither of us have shown our faces to anyone.” you mused, turning back to look at your nearly finished painting.

Most of the mural was done - for you’d been painting all night and the suns were set to rise in an hour or two. The only part of the painting that wasn’t finished was the final details and one corner at the top. You couldn’t reach it, and you were far too tired to haul yourself up there with your hair in the dark. When you had more light and energy, you’d finish the mural.

“Come on Pas... it’s bed time.” you yawned. You dunked your brush into paint thinner and made a mental note to clean all of your brushes tomorrow once you finished the mural. Pascal sleepily beeped at you as he crawled onto your bed. Changing out of your clothes and into pajamas, you crawled into bed with your hair pooling behind you and onto the floor.  
You have paint in your hair. Pascal noted.

“It’s a fashion choice.” you laughed as you pulled the bulky droid closer to you to cuddle. Pascal nuzzled into you and quickly powered down, clearly ready for sleep.

Happy Birthday. Pascal sleepily beeped at you.

“Thanks buddy.”

~

As every year, on your birthday, you awoke to glowing tendrils of glowing light dancing around you in your bedroom. The tendrils lazily danced and floated above you in bed, twirling and twisting about, and when the sun cast on them, their deep golden-honey color briefly cut away to a bright and refreshing white color. You watched in awe as the ribbons of glowing light swirled around you, and slowly little dots of teal and vibrant greens began to pop into your field of view as well. 

You laughed in delight as the light show continued. This was always one of your favorite parts of your birthday. Almost as good as the cake you’d eat later tonight, and almost as good as the light show that always appeared around midnight.

After you’d made breakfast and cleaned everything in your tower, you pulled out your unfinished painting of the beautiful woman and the metal man.

Pascal watched as you painted, slowly and methodically adding strokes of paint here and there to bring the painting to life. And he noticed how you avoided painting the metal man’s helmet over his face.  
You know you have to complete the armor sooner rather than later. The woman is nearly finished. Pascal commented from his perch on your shoulders.

You glanced backwards at your little droid companion and sighed. You knew he was right. But you didn’t want to lose such a precious sight just yet. This was the best rendition you’d ever created of your mysterious dream walking man.

“I know, but he’s... I don’t want to just yet.” you replied.

A sound outside your tower made the two of you freeze. There shouldn’t have been a noise outside your tower. There was one way in, and that was via your long and magical hair. And your hair was swirled around you as you painted, and not hanging out the window to help someone inside.

You quickly dropped your paintbrush into a bowl of paint thinner, and scampered to hide, after swiping a cast iron frying pan off of your stove - the very one you used to make your breakfast in. Pressing your back against the wall of your tower, you pulled one of the curtains across your body to hide yourself, your endless amounts of magic hair and Pascal.

The noises got louder, and you realized the sound was of something grunting and panting. With a final heavy grunt, something or rather someone climbed through your open window and stumbled inside your home.

Tilting your head to the side a bit, you stared at the person who entered your tower. A broad expanse of shoulders covered by pauldrons, and a back covered by a well-loved greyish brown cape stood before you. A man stood in your living room, body facing towards your kitchen with his head - no - his helmet scanning the area as if looking for you. The back of him was intimidating and you could only imagine what the front of him looked like.

You clutched the frying pan tighter, holding it up in a defensive position to swing if need be and you watched the intruder. His helmet moved one way to look at the other window that stood near the window that acted like a door to the tower. At your feet, Pascal cowered down, trying to make himself as small as he could so the metallic man wouldn’t see him. 

The man’s helmet began to move back in the other direction, towards where you kept your wall of sketches and the unfinished painting you’d abandoned only moments ago.

Taking a step forwards, you held your breath as you raised the frying pan and summoned every ounce of courage you could muster up. This was beginning to be the weirdest birthday you’d ever had.

You swung the frying pan at his head, and connected with his helmet. He went down to one knee with a satisfying blonk! sound echoing off the helmet. You ran from behind the curtains, heading for the stairs that lead up to your bedroom, where you kept an old blaster just in case situations like this happened. Your feet snagged on your hair as you tried to scramble up the stairs to safety. Stumbling forwards, you heard the man struggling to his feet as you tried to crawl away.

“Freeze.” he harshly stated, drawing and aiming his blaster at you.  
You shook as you struggled to your feet, your frying pan still clutched in your sweaty, shaking palms. Pascal mechanically whimpered from behind the curtains, his two little legs had gotten tangled in the process of your escape. The man’s head tilted towards the sound confused about what it was for a moment. You took a slight step towards Pascal, but froze when the man thrust his blaster farther into your face.  
“Who on Hoth are you?” you demanded, putting on a false face of confidence.

This man is the first person you’ve ever seen, apart from your mother, and even if he was scary... he was beautiful too.

You stared at his helmet, the vast expansive blackness of the T shape visor stares at you and you can feel the man underneath the helmet staring intently at you. He barely moves as he keeps his gun trained on you. The mid-morning sun glints off the floor and bounces back up to meet his helmet and armor, making it shine. If you had years you probably could have only painted the armors’ beauty for a fraction of what it truly was. You’d probably never be able to paint it - him - accurately.

Swirls and specks of cool violet dance around him, reminding you of the light show you woke up to. Your mind shows you the painting you were working on, and you realize you’ve painted the swirling purple colors around the mysterious man from your dreams. You study the purple tendrils surrounding the man before you, and you realize they’re the same shade of blueish violet.

“I ask the questions.” he stated, taking a step towards you.

You dodged to the side, moving yourself closer to your fireplace and art easel.

“Who are you? How did you find me!? Have you come for my magic hair? Cause lemme tell you something - it’s not happening. My hair stays exactly where it is.” you stated.

The man in armor from head to toe looked pointedly down at the floor where your hair was cascading everywhere. It wrapped around the banister at the bottom of the stairs, weaved behind and between the man’s boots, and ended somewhere in the curtains where Pascal was slowly freeing himself.

“It stays where it is.” you repeated.

“I’m not here for your hair. I’m here for you.” he said. His visor looks at you, and then travels a little bit farther to look at something behind you.  
“Who is that?” he demands, stalking passed you.

He marches up to the painting of the beautiful woman and the man from your dreams. His visor gets so close to the wet painting, you’re afraid he’ll smear what’s still drying.  
“Be careful!” you exclaim, moving towards him to pull him away from the best painting you’ve ever created.

“Where did you see -” his question dies on his tongue as he notices the sketches mounted to your walls. He stumbles backwards, as if in shock. And then he whirls around to face you again. His blaster is jammed underneath your jaw as he presses himself into your personal space, and you drop the frying pan onto the ground beside you. Somewhere behind you you can hear Pascal beeping madly at him.

“Where did you see? How?” he snarls at you.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you whimper out your question.

He points rather harshly back at the painting and the sketches, and the mural of Mandalore.

“Where did you see?” he asks again.

“See what?!” you ask, your limbs still shaking.

“Where did you see me?”

“You?” you exhale.

The man before you is the man who has walked in your dreams since you were young, since you could hold a brush between your fingers. He was real. He was here with you. The visor, which looked strange and foreign before, now looks familiar from all those nights dreaming of him and his vast adventures across the galaxy.

~

“You?” you exhale as he stares at you.

He’s thankful for the helmet blocking his face from yours. An expression mixed together of fear, anger and curiosity sits on his features and Mando isn’t sure which one is the most appropriate reaction. He slowly lowers his blaster from beneath your jaw, and steps away from you and the painting.

Had his oath to his Creed been broken now that you’ve seen his face?

How had you seen his face when the two of you had never met before?

These questions swirl in his mind, as he strides across the room. His heart hammers in his chest as fear and anxiety spikes in his veins. What if he’d broken his Creed? What would he do with his life without it? He’d lived so long with the Creed of being a Mandalorian he can’t even begin to think about life without it. Your droid scrambled away as Din came closer and closer to the window he entered the tower through after a daunting and troublesome ascent.

After weeks of searching in and around the Outer Rim, he finally got a credible lead which spoke of a mysterious tower in the middle of the dunes on Cantonica.

Din hears you take a tentative step forwards as you crouch down to scoop your little droid up into your arms. He tilts his head slightly, watching you out of the corner of his eye. You move the little droid to your shoulder, and contemplate whether to pick up the frying pan again. Din’s head still throbs a little from where you smacked him.

“You hit me with a frying pan?” he asks, turning back to look at you. 

“It was the closest weapon.” you reply, a blush crawling up your neck.

Din stares at you now. You’re no longer shroud in shadow and Din finds himself speechless. You’re beautiful, what with the way the sun is beaming gently down on you, and how your impossibly long hair falls down your back and to the floor. He can see hints and bits of each of your parents on your features, and he can see you’re nearly a perfect combination of the two of them. The Mandalorian word for beauty - mesh’la - echos through his mind as he studies you. And your eyes...your eyes shine with curiosity as they stare back at him, and he can see you’re not scared of him like most people are when they meet him.

“Is something wrong?” you ask him, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s been quiet for sometime, just staring at you.

“I’m here to take you to Genassa.” he states, trying to mask how embarrassed he feels for looking at you for far too long.

“No.” you immediately respond. 

Din tilts his helmet slightly to one side, as if quirking an eyebrow at you in question. He watches as you square your shoulders and hold your ground.

“This isn’t up for debate.” Din argues.  
“I’m not leaving. I don’t know you.”

“I’ve been hired to bring you to Genessa.” he tells you, as if it solves anything.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere.” you reiterate.

“Look, I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.” he threatens her. Apprehension and a little fear wash over you features as you take in his words. His threat is empty but you don’t know that, and Din plans to keep it that way for as long as he can. Is it manipulative? Yeah, of course it is... but he has the baby to think about. And the money you can bring him is always burning in the back of his mind.

The droid beeps at you and Din’s droid speak is rusty, so he only catches a few words.

Lights. Take. Go.

You grab the droid off your shoulder, and hold him out in front of you as you turn your back to Din. Din tilts his helmet away, to look as if he’s not listening to every words you’re saying to the little robot. His eyes meet the painting again, and his heart lurches. You’ve captured him perfectly. Every detail of his hidden face is on proud display for anyone to see if they entered the tower. His initial reaction to the painting and the drawings was one of shock and surprise... but now... now he can see just how talented you are with a brush or charcoal.

He studies Omera, taking in the paint that makes up her on the canvas. He remembers this moment - the one you’ve captured perfectly - he remembers how soft and gentle and honest Omera was with him and the Kid. With how she asked him if he wanted to stay on Sorgan and leave the life of being a Mandalorian behind to raise his child in a safe and happy environment. He remembers how her hands shook slightly as she raised them to rest against the side of his helmet, silently asking if she could take it off for him, and he remembers how his heart lurched in his throat telling him not to let her do it. Not yet. He needed his helmet for a little while longer.

He can see how each paint stroke captures the emotions he was feeling at the moment, at how he wanted to stay with her but knew he couldn’t. He sees how you took your time with painting Omera, focusing on her details making the painting come to life through layers and layers of carefully dabbed blots of color. And Din admires the background that you’ve created. You’ve mixed the breath-taking greens, and beautiful blues of Sorgan’s planet and mixed in different hues of purples and oranges and golds to add more to the painting. Everything about what you’ve created is beautiful... and he can see why you haven’t covered his face with his helmet just yet.

“Take me to see the exploding stars tonight, and then I’ll go with you.” you bargain.

“Exploding stars?” he asks, being pulled out of his thoughts.

“Yes. Tonight at midnight Canto Bight releases makes these stars explode in the sky in celebration. Take me to see them tonight, and then I’ll go with you to Genassa.” you state.

“Fine, but you have to get rid of these.” Din motions to the painting and the sketches of his face that cover your walls. He sees your face crumble a bit, and he recognizes the reaction as one of sadness.

“Get rid of them?” you question him.

“Yes.”

“But they’re beautiful...” Din’s face heats up at your compliment, but he can see that you’re at a loss for words and conflicted about destroying your artwork.

He sighs. He wants you to trust him, to make getting you off Canto Bight easier. But with the hundreds of drawings of his face on display makes him uneasy. And he’s still not sure if this breaks the Creed or not.

“Has anyone else seen them?” he questions.  
“No one else has.” you promise him, and Din believes you.

No one, not even your mother had seen the sketches and the painting of his face. You’d been careful about which ones you could see clearly from far away, and when up close you made sure that sketches of his face were hidden underneath other sketches of his helmet or his blaster or various places he’s visited.

“Is there somewhere you can hide them where no one will find them?” Din asks you, knowing he might regret this decision later.

You nod quickly, and begin tearing down the sketches, piling them together. Your droid helps as much as he can, but his two little legs can only do so much. Once all the papers are stacked, you hurry to your staircase, and rip up one of the stairs. You stuff the pages into the hidden hole, and then replace the wooden board to complete the staircase again.

Din watches as you move back towards your little kitchen area, and pick up a knife. His hand adjusts slightly on his blaster which rests at his side. He watches more closely now as you walk over to the painting of him and Omera, and stab the knife in the middle of the painting, ripping it in two. You peel Din’s side of the painting from your easel and carefully roll it up before storing it in a small compartment inside your droid. Din’s head tilts in confusion at your actions. Why would you save that half of the painting and not the other half? Omera was beautiful in that painting.

“Ready?” you ask, spinning around to look at him. For someone being forcefully removed and technically kidnapped from their home, you seem oddly excited about the whole situation.

“After you.” he says, gesturing to the window.

You stood at the edge of the window and looked down at the sand dunes.

Your life was finally about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

Your life was finally beginning.

You didn’t hesitate. You slung your hair onto the hook you used to pull your mother up, and jumped. The wind rushed past your face, blowing through every strand of hair you had on your head. Giddy excitement flows through you as you fall gracefully towards the ground.

You stop immediately before the ground. There’s sand everywhere with a few dead plants littered here and there, but you don’t really care about those. What you care about is how close the ground is. You’ve only known the semi-roughness of the bricks and wooden stairs, and small fiber carpets that made up your tower.

You’ve never touched the ground in all your years.

Your foot gently touches the sand, as you put more and more pressure down on the ground. The sand is strange, and you swear you can feel every single grain that touches your skin. It’s coarse and rough and kind of irritating. You can imagine how it can get everywhere.

Your second foot hits the ground and you wiggle your toes into the sand. You’ve never felt anything like this before. It feels... amazing. You bend down and scoop a handful of sand into your palms. The grains slip from your fingers, acting like water as it collects on the ground again in a little pile. A gleeful bubble of a laugh crawls up your throat and escapes, leaving a wide smile in its wake.

The clunk of the Man’s armor clinks behind you, but your mind is distracted by the new things you can touch. The breeze rustles your hair, making your chest blossom with more excitement. Anymore and you might burst into a cloud of butterflies and rainbows.

Ahead of you lies an alcove of rocks, keeping your tower hidden from the rest of the word. Your feet move across the sand, and head in the direction of the little cave opening. Pascal skitters up your body before you take off into a run, not wanting to be left behind. You make sure he’s secure on your shoulder as you move inside the cave. The Man is barely a thought in your overloaded mind.

There’s so much to see in the galaxy.

Emerging on the other side of the cave, you’re surrounded by every shade of green you’d ever thought of mixing together. You might have thought you’d traveled across continents, instead of through a measly little cave, but as you whirled around to double check you weren’t in fact hallucinating, you saw that - yes, there was never ending sand back through the cave, and a seemingly never ending forest behind you.

The Man stepped through the mouth of the cave entrance, being mindful of your magical hair. There was so much of it. Din wondered how you took care of it. How long did it take for you to wash it? How did it take to dry? Maker... how long did it take to brush? And how much did it weigh?

Pascal slides from your shoulders, and jumps around on the soft, almost muddy ground of the forest. The droid’s been with you for nearly all your life - and he’s never once wanted to leave you - so he’s never seen the world.

Before the Man has time to reach your side, you’re taking off again. You’re running across damp soil and mulch, and fuzzy moss. Each new surface makes you laugh with delight and awe. This was what you were missing? You were never going back to your tower again.

You slow to a stop, and rest a hand against a large pine tree, trying to catch your breath. Everything was green and growing, and every scene you saw made you want to rush back to your tower to grab your paints. Everything was breathtaking.

Water rushes by in a small creek near where you stopped to catch your breath. You stumble over branches and vines, and blatantly dip your toes into the water. It’s cold, and crisp, and the feeling shocks you. Your laughter filters through the air as the Man appears behind you just moments later.

As you gaze around you at the world full of wonders, a drowning wave of guilt washes over you. Mother was going to be so mad at you for leaving. No. She would be furious. And when she returned, and if she found out... she would never trust you again. You would be locked in your tower forever to live out your days until you grew old, and your bones turned to dust. Sinking to the ground, you sat at the creek’s edge with your toes tucked into the water like a blanket.

The Man watches you with interest. The selfish part of him couldn’t believe how easy this seemingly daunting task had been. When he’d been hired, he thought this job was going to be nearly impossible. But now - even after a few weeks of searching various planets - this was a piece of cake. He couldn’t believe how easy this was.

“Come on. We have a long way to the city.” he states. Picking yourself up off the mossy forest floor, you dust yourself off and follow the mysterious metal man that’s given you an opportunity of a lifetime.

This was beginning to be the best birthday you’d ever had before.

The two of you walk in silence, with only the strange sounds of the forest to keep you company. Pascal walks beside you, running up ahead every now and again when something interests him. He’s just as excited as you are to be out of that tower.

You look over at the man who’d convinced you to leave your tower after never leaving your entire life. The sun glints off various points on his armor, some of the glares hit your eyes and blind you temporarily.

Do you have a name? you hear Pascal ask.

The Man looks down at Pascal, and you swear you hear him huff or scoff in disgust. You whirl around to face him, and march up to his towering frame. 

“You don’t have to be rude. He just asked a question.” You angrily jab a finger into his shoulder, between his pauldron and his chest plate.

“I don’t like droids.” he states.

“I don’t care.” you replied, you voice leaving no room to argue. You weren’t going to put up with someone being rude to Pascal.

With a huff of a sigh, the Man looks from you to the droid at his feet, and then back to you.

“You can call me Mando.”

“Mando?” you ask. You’d never heard of a name like that before.

“It’s easier than calling me Mandalorian all the time.” he states.

Your eyes grow wide, and Din recognizes the look as one of awe and excitement. He tenses ever so slightly at your reaction.

“You’re a Mandalorian? You’re from Mandalore? I thought it was ruined by the Jedi.” you ramble, kicking your feet through the sand.

“I - uh - I was a foundling. I’m not from Mandalore.” Din says, a little unsure about... well... everything.

“Well...” you look a little sad at the news of Mando not being from Mandalore. “... that doesn’t make you any less of a Mandalorian. I read in a datapad that it's more about religion than blood. Right?” you question.

“It’s a little more complicated than that but... yes.” he hesitantly agrees. You hum in thought, before giving him a bright, beautiful smile. He tilts his helmet to the side. He’s never seen someone so innocent and beautiful before. You spin, heading further down the worn down pathway.

“So what is your real name?” you ask him sometime later.

“I can’t tell you.” 

You turn your head to look at him in the late morning sunlight.

His beskar armor makes him look beautiful, and strong, and it’s here in this moment you know you’d never paint him accurately.

“Why not?” you asked, sounding strange. At first Din thinks you’re offended but then he realizes you’re curious.

“It’s against the Mandalorian Creed. Only - only my riddur or my children can know my true name.” Din explains, and for once he isn’t annoyed by your questions. He’s actually happy to explain his religion to you.

“Oh... I’m... I’m sorry I asked. My datapad never said anything about that... although I never finished reading it. You showed up before I could finish it.” you rambled, afraid you’ve angered him with all the questions.

“It’s fine.” comes his curt reply. And with that you stop talking to him, in fear you’ve offended him.

~

The walk through the forest towards Canto Bight took less time than you thought it would. When the Mandalorian said it was going to be a long walk, you’d assumed hours and hours, but it’d taken two hours of walking at most. You had no idea you lived so close to the city.

Mando led you through a smaller market place on the outskirts of the main city. And although it was small, it was still filled with creatures from all over the galaxy. A few large red beings with horns sprouting from their foreheads walked through market stalls, while Twi’leks fluttered about. A couple Jawas and Ewoks wandered around, as loth cats dashed between the legs of patrons and shop owners alike. 

Life was thriving here, and you were drinking up every exchange you could. Your eyes fell on anyone and everyone within your line of sight, making you marvel at just how much life was outside the cold stones that made up your tower. You were missing out on so much! Why was your mother keeping you hidden away from all of this?

A smile was permanently etched onto your face as you walked along the pathway the Mandalorian was clearing for you as he moved through the crowd. And you noticed how eyes followed his every move, and conversations died down when he neared. Sure you had 70 feet of hair behind you, but it was nothing compared to the shiny metal that graced the Mandalorian’s body.

A certain cluster of zabrak’s hidden in the shadows of an alleyway scowled at you, which made you jump to catch up to Mando. Walking directly beside him made you feel a little better about leaving your tower, and your old life behind.

“Keep smiling and your face will get stuck like that.” Mando teased you. Your cheeks felt hot, and your ears could have been blowing steam with how flustered you felt. Was he flirting with you?

“I’ve just... I had no idea this place was here.” you tell him, as you stop outside a cantina. Your eyes look back at the Mandalorian’s visor, confused as to why you’ve stopped at a place called The Ugly Porg.

“Hey um... what’s a Porg?” you ask, turning to look at the Mandalorian after reading the faded wooden sign hanging above the entrance. 

The Mandalorian’s shoulder shakes a little as he looks at you. You must have been really sheltered in your ivory tower if you didn’t know what a porg was... and come to think of it - the way you reacted to seeing the town made him think that whoever kept you hidden away in the tower must have kept you there against your will. This little subsection of Canto Bight was practically harmless. There’d be no reason to keep you from it - unless someone was trying to keep you hidden from prying eyes and overhearing ears. He was going to have to look up your parents and you, once he got back to the Razor Crest.

“Um,” the Mandalorian clears his throat when he realizes you’re serious about what a porg is. “It’s a water dwelling bird. It’s kind of like a chicken but looks like an owl - almost.”

“Where are they from?” you ask, still smiling at the Mandalorian. His face heats slightly, and he’s grateful for the helmet obscuring your view of his flustered face. Maker, you were just smiling at him. He shouldn’t be this tongue-tied. It’s just a smile, one you’ve had on your face since your feet touched the ground when you left your home.

“Ahch-To.” he responds. Your head tilts slightly, never having heard of the planet he’s just spoken of. 

“Come on. I can explain later.” he says, and moves towards the open door of the cantina.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, piling all of your hair into your arms. His face heats more at the ‘we’ you say instead of just a ‘you’ but he shakes his head and squares his shoulders. You’re just a bounty. He can’t develop feelings for you when you’ll be out of his life in the next 24 hours. Besides he’s only just met you.

“I need to get something before we continue to Canto Bight.” he says, before stepping inside the cantina.

As soon as you step in the building, all eyes are on you and the Mandalorian and every conversation has stopped. The vibes inside the Ugly Porg aren’t that different from the streets you just came from, but there’s a heavier feeling lingering in the air along with the smell of alcohol and blaster residue.

“Mando!” laughs a large egg faced giant. As your eyes land on his stationed behind the bar, you recognize him as a Crolute - a large aquatic being from the planet Crul. Mother had brought you a data pad all about Crul and its neighbors when you were nine. It seems like ages have passed since you were that young.

“Taur.” the Mandalorian says, walking up to the bar. You follow after him, keeping yourself small.

“And who’s this little thing?” Taur asks, peering around the Mandalorian’s shoulder to get a better look at you. You shrink backwards, clutching your hair tighter in your arms.

“No one. Do you have what I asked for?” Mando asks, getting straight to business. You were thankful he called you a nobody. You weren’t well versed in speaking to strangers - and going with the Mandalorian into the unknown was and probably will be the only crazy thing you’ll do in your life time.

“Always down to business with you Mandalorians.” Taur mutters to himself with an exaggerated eye roll, before turning away from the two of you to get whatever Mando needed.

Taur returns with several small items which remind you of itty bitty holopads. He lays them out across the bar top, and points to each one as he explains to Mando what’s on each one. Mando and Taur begin negotiating, Mando trying to haggle down the price, while Taur’s trying to get as much money as he can.

Gazing around the cantina seems like the best way to give Mando and the Crolute the privacy they need to make a transaction. You let your eyes wander over the patrons inside the building, watching as they drink and chat and laugh without a care in the galaxy. Life is full here, and you can’t help but feel cheated again. Mother was keeping all of this from you... and for what reason?

Pascal beeps in your ear as he rests against your shoulders.

Stormtroopers. he whispers in your ear.

Your eyes grow wide as you try to remain as still as possible. Mother had said stormtroopers were not to be trusted or messed with. They were dangerous, and if they were ever turn up at the tower, you would need to fight for your life.

“Where?” you ask under your breath as you shift some of your hair into one arm.

Entrance. he answers you. 

You slowly turn towards the entrance you’d walked through not minutes ago and stare at the three stormtroopers. They’re crowded together, actively searching through the patrons in the bar for something... or someone. One helmet lands on you and the Mandalorian, and then he nods towards the two of you, signalling to his buddies that they’ve found their target.

“Fuck.” you whisper.

You quietly slip besides Mando, and lace one of your hands around his bicep, drawing some of his attention away from Taur. His visor tilts down at you, confused as to why you’re touching him.

“What?” he asks, his voice quiet and full of concern.

You give him soft doe eyes, and softly tilt your head to the side, directing his focus to the Imps behind you. He curses under his breath, and turns back to Taur. Mando sets down a small sack of credits onto the table, and swipes up two of the tiny holopads.

“You have a back way out?” Mando asks.

Taur finally takes notice of the stormtroopers. He freezes for just a moment before looking pointedly behind the two of you at an exit you could probably make it to if you moved right then and there.

Mando gripped your wrist, and began to pull you towards the exit Taur had looked at. As the two of you were nearing the door, two stormtroopers appeared from behind a pillar.

“Halt!” ordered one of the stormtroopers.

You and Mando skidded to a stop as the stormtroopers aimed their rifles at the two of you. Pascal whimpered in your hair as he hunkered down, trying to stay out of sight.

“Alright Mando let’s see some identification.” spoke the other stormtrooper.

“That’s not necessary.” Mando bargained, trying to step passed the two troopers.

“We got reports of a Mandalorian out near the Slave. And I think it was you.” taunted the stormtrooper.

A deep uneasy feeling washes over you as you stare at the stormtroopers. You have to do something or else you won’t be walking out of this cantina alive.

And you very much want to live.

“This is not the Mandalorian you’re looking for.” you say with your hand raised before you and your voice strong. Pascal leaps from your shoulder and scurries underneath one of the tables inside the cantina, shaking like a leaf.

“This isn’t the Mandalorian we’re looking for.” say the stormtrooper in a monotone voice.

The second stormtrooper’s helmet whips to the side to look at the first one - the one you spoke to.

“2702 yes it is.” speaks the second stormtrooper.

The first one - designated 2702- shakes his head, and aims his blaster at your chest. You slowly raise your hands in front of you as the Mandalorian at your side shifts slightly on his feet.

And then you’re blinded by the light of a blaster shot, and then someone is dragging you through the door, descending down flight after flight of stairs.

Blaster shots ring out behind you, and pierce the walls around you, making you duck and stumble as you descend the stairs. The two of you run through the dark, and when you make it to the last stair, the pitch black stairwell opens into a pitch black hallway, leading through endless corridors.

Footsteps - heavy and loud - follow after you. Adrenaline spikes through you as the Mandalorian weaves through the tunnels, trying to put distance between you and the pursuing stormtroopers.

It takes a dozen turns, but eventually you lose the stormtroopers in the endless dark tunnels that run beneath Canto Bight, and in turn get yourselves lost as well. Slowing to a stop, you double over and rest your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. You’d never done so much physical activity before.

Mando’s breathing is just as heavy as yours, which makes you feel better about panting like a lothcat in heat. He stands at his full height, and touches a few buttons on the vambrace on his forearm. A second later his helmet looks down at the vambrace and presses a button again. You can’t quite tell in the dark, but you can sense that something isn’t right.

If only you had a light - where was Pascal when you needed him?

The two of you slowly moved through the tunnels, trying to find some kind of exit in the endless dark maze beneath the city. The two of you wandered for what felt like hours, and you were beginning to lose hope of ever getting out of there... and going back towards the stormtroopers was not an option.

“Damn. My night vision asset must have been knocked loose during the fight.” Mando curses from in front of you.

“I’m sorry I got us into this mess.” you apologize as you stumble in the darkness. Being trapped underground with the Mandalorian didn’t seem like a terrible way to go...but it wasn’t something you were thrilled about. 

“Din.” Mando says from up ahead.

“What?” you ask into the darkness.

A hand wraps around your own, startling you. Warmth radiates from the leather glove as it holds onto your hand, letting you know he’s here with you.

“My name.” He answers you. 

Your head tilts in the dark at his confession. Why was he telling you this? You certainly weren’t his child or his riddur - whatever that was... so why was he telling you this?

“Someone should know. Din Djarin..” his voice fades out quietly, and your heart hurts for him. The two of you continue to stumble through the darkness, blinding searching for a way out of the old tunnels that run beneath the gambling city of Canto Bight.

“I guess if we’re sharing secrets...” you begin. “ I have glowing hair.” You come to an abrupt halt, stopping Din with you.

“What is it?” he asks, concerned at your sudden stillness.

“I have glowing hair.” you repeat, like it will clear everything up.

“I have glowing hair!” you exclaimed excitedly.

You pull in a large breath and begin singing. “Stars, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring balance to the galaxy.”

Your hair begins to glow, the magic beginning at your scalp before slipping through your strands, bringing them alive with color. The tunnels are plunged into light, and you’re greeted with the familiar shine of the Mandalorian’s helmet. A prideful smile sits on your face as he stares down at you.

“Come on this doesn’t last for very long.” you encourage him, holding armfuls of your hair.

With a nod of his helmet, the Mandalorian - Din - uses the light your magical hair provides to find a suitable exit. The two of you stumble out onto a deserted street within the city. The mid-afternoon sun nearly blinds you as your hair loses its magical glow.

Familiar mechanical beeps echo down the way, catching your attention. Pascal beeps happily as he spots you and the Mandalorian emerging from the abandoned tunnels.

“Pascal!” you beam excitedly. You move down the way and scoop the little droid up into your arms. You nuzzle him with your nose, and blot kisses against his little forehead.

“I missed you too.” you tell him. Setting Pascal down on the ground again, you focus on gathering all your hair into a pile so you can deal with it in a better way. Dragging it around, or carrying armfuls isn’t ideal anymore.

“She has glowing hair.” Din mutters to himself, but the vocoder catches his words.

“She has glowing hair. How is that possible?” he asks, looking down at your droid.

It also heals. Pascal states.

“Heals?” Din asks him.

“Can I?” you ask, holding your hand out for his hand. Din - perhaps against his better judgement - gives you his injured palm. “Just watch.”

Wrapping a thick section of your hair around Din’s hand, you make sure his cut is covered before you begin singing again.

“Stars, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring balance to the galaxy. Heal what has been hurt. Change the Forces’ design. Save what has been lost. Bring balance to the galaxy.”

Your hair bursts into a ball of glowing light as the Force flows through you, and into Din. When the light fades from your hair only moments later, you open your eyes and remove your hair from Din’s hand. His wound is completely gone.

“You have magic hair that heals.” he states.

Din flips his hand over, and back again - only to flip it over again, searching and examining the work you’ve done. Your hair healed him. Your magic hair healed his wound. 

He had seen a lot in his time traversing across the galaxy, and he’d seen even more since taking the Child underneath his wing as his foundling. But this was the strangest thing he’s ever seen.

“You have magic hair... that heals.” he repeats, his visor looking up towards your face again.

Your hand reaches out, and grabs his again, your skin brushing against his. Din can feel his face grow hot. You bring his healed hand towards your face and inspect it, making sure it’s completely and correctly healed.

“You should live.” you tease him as you let go of his hand.

Your words snap him out of his shocked state.

“We should get off the street. Those Imps could still be searching for us.” he said looking at you. You nod at him with a soft smile, and gesture dramatically for him to lead the way.

And then he does.


End file.
